


Across the Parallel Universe

by sherlocked221



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Forbidden Love, His Dark Materials Inspired, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 19:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11904501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocked221/pseuds/sherlocked221
Summary: Inspired by His Dark MaterialsJohn, Paul, George and Ringo live in a world where 'The Church' rule everything, and their parents either work for it, or are no longer alive. They are all sent off to a strict boarding school where they learn to play music together.But their ambition to become musicians is laughed at......and their secret relationships is totally prohibited.





	Across the Parallel Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, confession: I did do some research for this, but I haven't fully read any of the 'His Dark Materials' trilogy. I am ashamed of this, because I did watch the movie and I loved the idea of Daemons. Please excuse any inaccuracies or stupid, incorrect references to the book or film (its been ages since I actually watched it) 
> 
> I was inspired by the book, but perhaps it would be better treated as a different world, similar, but... shit compared to the books XD
> 
> Also, excuse the crap title, I really couldn't think of one. If anyone has a better idea, let me know.

Down the dark, unlit corridors of a small school, two teachers walked. One was a tall, slim woman who wore a cape thrown around her shoulders, its collar decorated in white, wispy animal fur that matched her greying hair. The only indication of her hair finishing and the animal’s starting was the strands of brown peppered on the cape. The teacher’s hair was almost completely snow white, the same as her Daemon’s. Its permanent form had taken that of a snow leopard.

And the second woman had similarly light-coloured hair, but hers still had a hint of yellow from when once it might’ve been blonde. She was slightly smaller than her colleague and a lot chubbier. Her face was pudgy, with a rounded chin. She wore clothes that gave the impression she’d just gotten out of bed, complete with a pair of slippers dragging as she plodded along and, given the time of night, she might well have just been woken from sleeping. It even seemed so, as her Daemon, a black hog, padded behind her, walking so uncoordinated it seemed to drift off between steps.

They both shuffled down the hallway with not a light between them to see, as neither needed it. They knew these hallways better than they knew their own families. They knew every door they passed, every room beyond them, every child that occupied which ever room at whatever time. This particular part of the school was the boy’s dormitories. In each room four or five children had their beds, a wardrobe to share and a desk for work meant to be done outside of regular class time. There were ten rooms, all next to each other, all with their lights out and doors locked. The teachers assured it for the fourth time that night.

But that wasn’t their reasoning for walking down there. They had gotten a call from the night security guard posted at the front of the school. A parent was here to see their child, not to talk to them, just to see, to see how they were doing. The teachers were on a mission, because they knew who this parent was and they didn’t want to be late coming.

Elsie Starkey was, like so many of the parents of children here, involved in ‘The Church.’ Essentially, she worked for them and that was scary enough on its own, as ‘The Church’ owned every school in the country. Well, the owned everything in the country, not just schools. The thing that made this woman more frightening was her love for her son. The majority of the other parents often dumped their children here because they were too busy to look after their offspring. Elsie was not like that. She adored her son, regretting having ever enrolled him in a boarding school. Really, she couldn’t have him at home, but she didn’t want him anywhere else.

The teachers made it to the front of the school in good time, greeting Mrs Starkey with whispered voices.

“Ms Rigby, I’d like to see my son,” Elsie declared once the pleasantries were done, “I’d like to see his work and his grades.”

Being ever hospitable, Ms Rigby, the taller lady, bowed her head slightly as she said, “Of course, Mrs Starkey. The boys’ dormitories are this way, if you’d like to follow me.”

Elsie did so, with her Daemon perched on her shoulder, nuzzling close to her neck. It had the form of a fat, little, red-breasted robin, whose bright colouring on its stomach matched her lipstick. She walked beside Ms Rigby with as much purpose as you’d expect from someone who worked for the church. She didn’t act as if she owned it, rather she looked on in admiration and pride.

“So how is my son?” She asked as they turned the corner to the boys’ dormitory corridor.

“He is very well,” replied Ms Rigby, “After the small health scares and effect that originally had on his work and school career, he has now returned to being an achiever.”

The fatter teacher, Ms Henderson, then butt in, “He has formed a group of friends, and they play wonderful music together when they’re not in lessons.”

“They do, do they?” Elsie said, a smile creeping onto her face.

Meanwhile, they’d reached the room in which her son stayed. Each of the doors had windows on the top half of it. She peeked through to see five beds, four of which were filled. Her son lay on the second bed closest to the door, sleeping on his back with his Daemon perched by his head, on the pillow.

“And he is happy?” Elsie questioned, beaming as her little boy looked so peaceful in his rest.

Ms Henderson stepped forward to look into the room as well, “Here? Yes. He likes this room particularly, as these are his friends. He has many of his lessons with them, and spends extra time with them. They are John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison.”

Elsie nodded quietly. She recognised some of those names. She knew them from work. They didn’t all work close to her, not even in the same department, but she knew of them, had seen their names on important papers or signatures on dotted lines. She tried to move on from the thought of work as quick as possible.

“And your opinion of my boy?” She asked, turning directly to the two teachers.

Ms Henderson shuffled a little, her Daemon changing the foot it held up to give it a rest. Ms Rigby, however, was not uncomfortable in the line of fire.

“Richie is a very sweet boy, in all his lessons. Ms Henderson, here, has the pleasure of teaching him science, and he is a delight to have in the class.” She praised.

“Oh yes,” Ms Henderson added, “He is very helpful and polite, always. But… we were worried…”

Elsie’s expression dropped. Her eyes became large and worried. Still, Ms Rigby remained calm.

“We were a little concerned,” She stated in a very gentle, very casual tone, “about the friends he did keep. Mr Lennon here is known for misbehaving on occasion and his young friend, Mr McCartney, was one of our star students before they became close. It’s not that any of their grades have been affected, but their interests in school has deteriorated in favour of… hobbies that we cannot see will benefit them in their future or current work. Richard seems to be going down the same path.”

“But you aren’t worried anymore?” Elsie looked at her son once more, this time with her brow knotted. She knew… she knew she shouldn’t have sent him away.

“No, Mrs Starkey. We are not worried about him. He has done so well to get where he is now, and he has made a valued friend in Mr Harrison, who remains a high achieving student, whose aspirations do not get in the way of his school work.” Ms Rigby assured. Elsie seemed finally comforted as she looked to the scrawny child in the bed beside her son, the one that Ms Rigby had pointed out as the Harrison boy. It comforted her to think that Richie had some good friends, good interests and is doing well. She just needed to see good results and she would be able to go home with a clear mind.

* * *

 

Around 7 O’clock, the students were woken. Outside their dormitories, either Ms Rigby, the headmistress, or Mr Kite, the deputy head, would ring a loud bell, echoing down the corridors where the children’s rooms were. Mr Kite often took the boy’s rooms, while Ms Rigby did the girls. They would ring the bell, wait for the sound to die down, then they would shout their orders to ‘Get up, get washed, get dressed and be ready for 7:30!’

This time, however, after waking the students, Mr Kite headed over to one of the rooms, knocking on the door and poking his head around it. Inside, John, Paul, George and Ringo were stretching their tired, heavy morning bodies in their beds, preparing to get up. The sudden intrusion into their space brought four scowling faces up at their teacher, the worst of all being John’s. He muttered a curse under his breath, shot a foul look at Mr Kite, then threw himself back onto the bed, the duvet covering over his head and the head of his Daemon, a small, dirty-brown ferret that burrowed beside him.

The other boys softened their expressions when they saw who it was knocking at their door. Mr Kite may have been the deputy head, but he also taught music, so had a good relationship with this particular group of friends. He encouraged them to write their own songs, to develop music the way they wanted to, even though the school may not have wanted him to. He liked their sound, he thought others would too. And he always believed that there was so much seriousness in this world, what with ‘The Church’s’ control on everything forcing rules on even the smallest things in daily life, there surely would be some space for something fun.

“Richie,” He called, his eyes seeking the boy out, “Your mother came in last night, she left some things for you. Come to my office after breakfast to get them.” He watched Richie’s lips stretch into a tired, but genuinely pleased smile. He rarely got to see his mother these days and, while he was in hospital, they basically had no contact what so ever, so he always got excited to have anything from her.

“Yes Sir, I will. Thank you.” He replied, nodding slightly.

Before Mr Kite left, though, he called over to John, who poked his head up angrily, “Should I tell Ms Rigby what you just said?” He laughed.

Reluctantly, John shook his head of messy hair, “No Sir. Sorry Sir.” He muttered, less than pleased.

The door then closed behind Mr Kite and the boys caught a glimpse of his Daemon’s, a sweet lemon coloured Labrador, tail.

“Fuck!” John proclaimed loudly as he arched up off his mattress. His Daemon also stretched, digging its sharp nails into the bed. “Do I really have to get up?”

“We could just say we’re sick…” His Daemon suggested. He smiled down at it and held out a hand for it to run up. It scampered up his arm and draped itself over John’s shoulders, it’s back curling around John’s neck under the weight of his mop top of hair.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Paul’s Daemon warned. It was a huge sheep dog called Martha, sitting proudly by Paul’s side as the young boy was the first to kick his legs off the mattress. Paul turned his head to see his friend, an equally as disapproving expression on his face as on Martha’s.

“Alright! Alright!” John cried, “I won’t pull a sickie. But let me ‘ave the shower first, will you Luv?” He batted his eyelashes melodramatically. However, in doing so, he failed to see George slip off into the door adjacent to his bed, the door into the bathroom. John only realised what his younger friend had done when he saw cat paws on through the translucent door. George’s Daemon was an evil, little, black cat or so John would describe it as.

“Oh you bastard!” He yelled, “You ‘eard me! Why would you do that?”

From the shower, he heard George’s muffled cry back, “Because you’re a dick.”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that.

And, since George had occupied the bathroom for the next 5 or so minutes, the other boys decided to lay out their clothes or pack their bags ready for lessons. Each child in the school was provided with a bag that they could fill with whatever they’d need for the lessons of the day, as they would not be allowed back to their rooms until 3:30, when all lessons ended and they could do what they wanted.

John didn’t bother with his bag on that morning. He took as long as possible getting out of bed, stretching for ages, then hobbling to the wardrobe to find something to wear.

Paul usually would pack his bag for school, if he wasn’t able to get into the bathroom first, because he liked to know he had everything ready for when he came out of the shower. However, he noticed John heading for the wardrobe and really wanted to speak to him. He looked over cautiously at Richie, in case he might notice the abrupt action of abandoning his usual routine to wander over to his friend, but, luckily, Richie wasn’t paying attention. He was, still dressed in his pyjamas, gathers his books and pencil case off his desk, ordering them before he put them in his bag. Perfect timing. Richie would hardly even be able to see if Paul went to the wardrobe, because it was in the opposite direction.

“Hello.” Paul whispered to John, trying not to smile. He started filing through his mix and match items of school uniform, having to check the labels to make sure he was picking his stuff, and not any of his friends.’

“Alright, Luv.” John replied. Paul noticed John’s Daemon Julia- whom he named after his mother- crawling onto Johns shoulder closest to him, as though it would not be able to hear from where it sat before. He smiled at it as his hand fell to his own Daemon, knotting in its soft fur.

“I dreamt about you last night…” Paul breathed.

“Oh yeah?” John looked very pleased. He neared Paul without a thought to how it might look. He got close enough to hook a finger around one of Paul’s, but, instead, he just brushed it, teasing his friend. “What did you dream about?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“Why?” John teased, “Too dirty?”

He certainly was not expecting for Paul to nod, proudly. His eyes grew wide, his pupils dilating.

“You’re killing me Macca,” He declared quietly, “You’re gonna kill me if you carry on.”

Paul smiled so wide that his face hurt. It was far too early to be using the muscles in any part of his body to excess, but he couldn’t help smiling.

“I’ll tell you later.” He promised, taking out a trio of hangers from the wardrobe with his clothes for the day. As he turned to go back to his bed, he quickly brought his hand up and stroked Julia’s back. Both John and Julia’s breath hitched. Paul grinned as he padded away.


End file.
